


A Jump to the Left

by The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Rocky Horror Picture Show
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Costumes, Lingerie, M/M, Piningjolras, Rocky Horror Picture Show - Freeform, assorted vague pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tears_of_nienna/pseuds/The%20Librarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis spend Halloween night at a performance of <em>The Rocky Horror Picture Show</em>, much to Enjolras' bewilderment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Jump to the Left

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger warning:** Brief incident of homophobic language. (Because Halloween seems to draw the street preachers in droves...), alcohol use

Enjolras had agreed to go to _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ because he was under the impression that it was a movie. A cult classic, apparently, but still, _just a movie_.

When he gets to Courfeyrac's apartment, he discovers that every last one of his friends has gone insane.

Feuilly is carefully painting _LOVE_ and _HATE_ across Bahorel's knuckles. Musichetta is wearing a French maid costume and is setting a gold top-hat on Eponine's head at a rakish angle. Eponine's outfit seems to consist of nothing but a glittery leotard and an abundance of eye makeup. Jehan is wearing a matching leotard and is teaching Joly and Bossuet--each wearing a tuxedo--some kind of dance.

Courfeyrac comes in from the bedroom in a blond wig (Enjolras _hopes_ it's a wig), wearing what looks like a pair of gold briefs. He's pretty sure Courfeyrac's abs have been enhanced with an airbrush.

Enjolras turns around to leave. He can make a clean escape, he hasn't been noticed--

He runs right into Combeferre, who has just come in. Combeferre steadies him with one hand so he doesn't fall over. "Where are you going?"

"Um. Away?"

Combeferre's lips curve in an understanding smile. "Courfeyrac didn't warn you, huh? Rocky Horror is always like this."

"You don't look that ridiculous." Though the long cigarette holder in his hand is incongruous, to say the least.

Combeferre adjusts his ascot. "That's because I'm the Criminologist."

"So you've seen this before, too."

"Yeah. We go every year."

" _I_ don't."

Combeferre shrugs. "Last year you decided to spend Halloween studying, and the year before that you got into an argument with one of the religious protesters up on High Street."

"Oh. Right." The protester had finally gotten so frustrated that he'd hit Enjolras over the head with his sign, and he'd spent the rest of the night answering police questions and holding an icepack to his temple.

"Don't worry," Combeferre says. "It'll be fun."

Enjolras isn't _worried_. Confused and slightly alarmed--but not worried. Combeferre brushes past him and goes to get a beer from the kitchen. Enjolras looks around the room and takes stock. Bahorel, Feuilly, Musichetta-Joly-Bossuet, Eponine, Jehan. Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Cosette and Marius are in the kitchen, making drinks. She's wearing black-framed glasses and a grey pair of men's pants, and Marius is wearing a demure pink dress with a white cardigan.

That's everyone, except--

Grantaire's voice comes out of the next room, followed shortly by Grantaire himself. "Jehan, where the fuck did you go? I can't lace this damn thing up mysel--oh. Hi, Enjolras."

Enjolras has lost the ability to speak.

Grantaire is wearing a half-laced black corset with black silk panties-- _panties_ \--and black thigh-highs held up with a garter belt. His lips are painted a deep shade of crimson and Enjolras has never been so turned on in his life.

This was a _terrible_ idea.

Grantaire smirks and cocks his hip. "What, you've never seen a sweet transvestite before?"

Enjolras recovers enough of himself to roll his eyes, but not enough to actually speak. Maybe he needs to take a page out of Cosette's book and get himself a drink.

It's not that he _never_ drinks--although Courfeyrac will swear up and down that Enjolras is an actual temperance advocate--it's just that he never drinks to _excess_ , so no one notices. He's just about to pay a visit to Courfeyrac's refrigerator when Grantaire swears and lifts a hand to his throat.

"Has anybody seen my pearl necklace?"

"I'll give you a pearl necklace!" Bahorel says with a leer and a lewd gesture. Feuilly punches him in the arm.

Grantaire doesn't laugh. "No, seriously, those fucking things are actually real. They belonged to my grandmother. Where'd they go?"

Enjolras looks around the room spies a tangle of beads beneath the coffee table. "Here it is," he says.

Grantaire grins. "Oh, thanks! Could you just--" He turns around and lifts his hair off the back of his neck. Enjolras almost balks, but he fastens the short string of pearls at the base of Grantaire's neck.

"There."

He throws another smile over his shoulder. "Thanks!"

Bahorel's leer only widens. "Did Enjolras just give you a pearl necklace, Grantaire?"

Grantaire throws one of his boots at Bahorel's head and misses.

Cosette comes back into the living room with a mixed drink in her hand. She eyes the cluttered table skeptically. "Hey, Courfeyrac, where's the toast?"

"It's _toasting_ ," Courfeyrac answers.

"Newspaper? Rice?"

"On the table. There's a bag for everybody."

Enjolras eyes the supplies on the table suspiciously. There are kazoos. No one told him there would be kazoos. "What's all this for?"

"Don't you know?" Eponine asks.

Enjolras shakes his head.

Grantaire's eyes fill with a devilish glee. "Oh, my god, _Enjolras is a virgin_!"

Enjolras' stomach drops and his face goes red so fast he can _feel_ it. He's not sure how Grantaire found out, or who would have told him, or why he felt the need to announce it to _everyone in the room_ , but he needs to get out of here-- _now_. He turns around to go, and Combeferre catches his arm.

"He doesn't mean it like that," he says in a quick undertone. "He just means you've never seen _Rocky Horror_ live before."

Enjolras takes a deep breath. "Oh."

"No running away!" Eponine announces. "It's too late for that."

Combeferre nudges him back towards the others. "Much too late," he agrees, and Enjolras owes Combeferre a massive, _massive_ favor. If he'd actually run away, it wouldn't have taken them very long to figure out why, and then he would have had to find new friends. Or a new university, because he'd never be able to look them in the eye again.

Fortunately, no one seems to have noticed his overreaction. Courfeyrac comes back into the room with a plate piled high with slices of toast, which he begins to dole out, one slice in each paper bag on the table.

Grantaire's fiddling with his clothes, using the reverse camera on his phone as a mirror. He looks up at Enjolras. "How do I look?"

The only thing Enjolras can think to say is, "You're going to freeze."

Grantaire puts the phone down (it's not like he has anywhere _else_ to put it) and takes a pull from a flask on the table. "No, I won't." He sits down on the sofa to put on his shoes--platform, spike-heeled Mary Janes--and Enjolras has to tear his eyes away from the shift and flex of Grantaire's stocking-clad thighs.

Feuilly checks his phone. "Time to go--if we want decent seats this year."

"Last year my dress ripped before we left," Cosette explains, "and we were late, so we all had to split up to find seats. I swore I was never going as Janet again. So..." She indicates her pants and Marius' pink dress.

"It's very flattering," Enjolras says.

"If only it wasn't _pink_ ," Marius says with a sigh. "Pink really isn't my color."

Cosette kisses him on the cheek. "The sacrifices we make for screen-accuracy."

"All right, everyone," Musichetta calls out. "It's go time! Get your supplies and let's get moving."

"Wait!" Courfeyrac shouts. "Enjolras doesn't have a costume!"

"Neither does Feuilly," Eponine says.

Feuilly holds up a tube of lipstick. "I'm going as the lips."

"You can't just go as the _lips_ ," Jehan sighs.

"Says who?"

"Says those of us wearing spangly leotards. The lips don't require any _effort_."

Musichetta smirks. "You come back after trying to apply lipstick with a cell-phone camera for a mirror and tell me it doesn't require effort," she says, and Jehan lets the subject drop. Feuilly swipes Grantaire's phone and applies the lipstick with practiced ease.

Courfeyrac sighs. "I'm pretty sure we were talking about _Enjolras_ and his tragic lack of costume."

Enjolras shakes his head and takes a step back from Courfeyrac. "No, we weren't," he says firmly.

"But I have another pair of shorts--"

" _No_."

"Aww," Courfeyrac says, and at least half of their friends echo him. Enjolras can't figure out who is and isn't mocking him, so he settles for a glare at the room in general.

Feuilly frowns and looks up, his lips now a brighter red than Grantaire's. "Wait a minute. Why do you have _two pairs_ of gold shorts?"

" _Reasons_ ," Courfeyrac replies very solemnly.

Combeferre loosens his ascot a bit. Enjolras can understand why--the room _is_ a little warm.

"All right, fine," Courfeyrac says at last. "Enjolras is a party pooper, but we don't have time to argue. Everybody get your stuff. I'm not going to be responsible for the consequences if you show up without your gear."

Everyone picks up a paper bag, including, reluctantly, Enjolras. A glance inside reveals a piece of toast (burned), a baggie of uncooked rice, a folded newspaper, a rolled-up strip of toilet paper, and one of the kazoos he'd noted earlier.

He is really, _really_ sure that this is a bad idea, but then Courfeyrac locks the door behind them, and there really is no turning back.

The walk uptown is cold, even for Enjolras, who is actually dressed for the weather. Jehan and Eponine have added gold bolero jackets to their costumes, and they don't seem to care about the chill. Courfeyrac appears to be having second thoughts about his choice of outfit, but Bahorel throws his jacket at him. "Give it back when we get there," he says, and Courfeyrac gratefully buries himself in the sheepskin-lined leather.

Grantaire, as he promised, doesn't even seem to feel the cold. The heels do ridiculous things to his stride, giving him something between a sway and a swagger as they make their way up to the theater on High Street.

They're all walking in a huddle--even the tuxedos apparently aren't _that_ warm--and Enjolras is much too aware of Grantaire walking beside him. With the heels, they're the same height now. Enjolras wouldn't even have to lean down to--

"Ah, _shit_." Grantaire's heel gets stuck between two cobblestones, and he stumbles, grabbing hold of Enjolras' arm for support. Enjolras reaches out to steady him, and his hand lands on the strip of warm, bare skin between the top of the panties and the bottom of the corset. 

Grantaire yanks his shoe free and straightens up. "Thanks," he says brightly. He turns to Musichetta. "How the fuck do you walk in heels around here?"

"Very, very carefully," she calls out. "And usually on sidewalks."

"Oh, well then." Grantaire hops up onto the curb, which makes him _taller_ than Enjolras. It's truly disconcerting, and Enjolras is happier when the sidewalk ends and they're all on the same level again.

The religious protesters are back in force this year, standing to one side of the barricaded main street and brandishing massive signs about fornicators and devil-worshippers and Catholics and gays.

"Don't you dare," Joly says. "We do not have time to treat a head injury tonight."

Enjolras sighs. "All right."

He avoids eye contact with the protesters, ignores the hateful things written on their signs. They're almost past the protesters entirely when one of them shouts out, "Faggots go to hell!"

Enjolras wheels around and sees that the man is pointing at Grantaire and Jehan. The sudden rush of adrenaline makes everything seem to slow down. He takes a step forward, but before he can say or do anything to ruin the evening, he feels Grantaire's arm drape over his shoulders.

"Aw, baby, don't be like that," Grantaire croons, blowing the protester a kiss. He keeps walking, pulling Enjolras with him until they're out of earshot.

"Sorry," he says when he lets go. "But I look _way_ too hot to spend all night in a police station bailing you out."

"Yeah, yeah," Enjolras says, his heart still thundering in his ears. He takes a deep breath of cold air and tries to put the incident out of his mind.

* * *

The campus theater is crowded. Plenty of people have come in costume, including at least a dozen in similar get-ups to Grantaire.

None of them look as good as he does. Enjolras feels a smug sort of pride--but what has he got to be proud of? Grantaire's not--they're not even--he doesn't even _know_ that Enjolras...

He wishes he'd had a drink before they left.

They take up most of a row near the front. Bahorel ends up on one side of Enjolras, and Grantaire on the other. Enjolras thinks about trading places with someone, maybe Eponine on the far end of the row, but he can't think of an excuse that doesn't sound rude.

And then there's no time to worry about it anymore, because a girl in a tuxedo picks up a microphone and starts making cast introductions.

"And remember, no throwing anything but toast and rice, and only on cue. And alcohol is _strictly forbidden_ ," she says, pausing to take a swallow from a bright pink flask. "Now...do we have any _virgins_ in the audience tonight?"

Bahorel turns to Enjolras with a terrifying smile on his face, but Grantaire shakes his head. "No way. His head will explode if they make him do the virgin stuff."

"Kind of the point," Bahorel says, but by then the cast members have already selected two terrified-looking people from the audience, drawing a crimson lipstick V on their foreheads. Embarrassing things are done with whipped cream and cherries, and Enjolras leans over towards Grantaire. "Thanks," he mutters.

"No problem. Just--relax, and try to go along with it. I promise, it'll be fun."

 _Fun_ might be a bit of a strong word. The show starts a few minutes later, and Enjolras is immediately and totally lost. There's a group of people on the stage in front of the screen acting out the movie as it goes along, and everyone is shouting things at the screen on cues he doesn't know. He realizes the purpose of the newspaper too late, and a squirt-gun spray soaks the front of his shirt.

"Just take it off," Courfeyrac advises, leaning down the row.

" _Hell_ no."

"You are no fun," he says with a pout.

On the screen, someone says "Brad," and everybody in the theater howls "Asshole!" simultaneously.

Enjolras starts treating it like an anthropological exploration, a foray into a completely unknown and bizarre subculture. It keeps him from feeling too left out, and the dynamics are actually really intriguing. Some responses are universal, and others are only repeated by certain pockets of the crowd--every group must have their own traditions...

Then suddenly Grantaire's hand is on Enjolras' arm, tugging him up and out of his seat.

"Get up, get up--it's the Time Warp!"

"What?"

"It's easy. Just follow the instructions." Grantaire hands him a pamphlet that someone has passed down the row, but it's too dark to read it.

Enjolras realizes almost immediately that if he _doesn't_ go along with the motions, he's liable to get trampled. And Grantaire is wearing extremely sharp heels. 

_It's just a jump to the left--  
And then a step to the right!_

Everyone else is half a beat ahead of him, because they know what's coming, but he's not doing so badly. He feels ridiculous, but at least everyone else is being ridiculous too. When the song tells him to put his hands on his hips, he does. And then...

_But it's the pelvic thrust  
That really drives them insane!_

Enjolras freezes and glances around. Most of the audience is doing a jerky, comedic motion to the song.

Not Grantaire. Grantaire is... _undulating_ to the beat, his hips rocking forward and back. The clothes he's wearing only accentuate the movement.

Enjolras swallows hard and looks up at the screen.

After the song is over, Bahorel pulls a battered flask out of his jacket and passes it along the row. Enjolras watches everyone in the row take a drink, and decides that if they all get mono they probably deserve it. He still tips the flask back and takes a swallow--it's either cheap whiskey or paint thinner, judging by the way it makes his throat burn--and passes it on. When the flask makes its way back, he takes another drink for luck.

The next time someone says "Brad," Enjolras shouts "Asshole!" right along with everyone else. The buzz lowers his inhibitions just enough to let him play along without feeling like a complete idiot, though he still doesn't understand two-thirds of what's happening.

He gets through the rest of the movie with no major embarrassments, until Grantaire dramatically 'dies' across Enjolras' and Bahorel's laps. Bahorel shoves at him. "Fuck you, man, you _killed_ me, remember?"

Grantaire's ass is in Enjolras' lap. Everything else fades to vague white-noise. Grantaire's wearing a pair of black silk panties and he's lying across Enjolras' lap and he's _wiggling_ , as Bahorel does his damnedest to push him onto the floor.

Finally Grantaire finishes dying and sits back up. His hip practically grinds against Enjolras' cock, and surely he's going to notice, surely Enjolras has already given himself away, but Grantaire rises to his feet taking no apparent notice of Enjolras' discomfort.

The movie ends shortly after that. The shocking cold outside the theater puts an end to the last of Enjolras' buzz. They're all coated in a light sheen of glitter-- _when had there been glitter?_ \--and shivering in the sudden chill.

"Back to my place!" Courfeyrac shouts, once more buried in Bahorel's leather jacket. "Hot chocolate and Bailey's for all!"

They make the walk as quickly as they can manage, and the warmth of Courfeyrac's apartment is a blessed relief. Everyone sheds coats and gloves and hats once they're inside, and Courfeyrac uses the coffee-maker to heat a massive amount of water for cocoa.

Cosette is perched happily on Marius' lap. Feuilly's red lipstick is smeared, and Enjolras has no idea who he's been kissing. Everyone seems to be winding down into contented quiet, sprawled across various pieces of furniture and the floor as well.

Enjolras goes out to the kitchen for another cup of cocoa, and Grantaire is leaning one hip against the counter, liberally spiking his own cup. He's still humming the "Time Warp" song.

"How do you know all the lines?" Enjolras asks.

Grantaire looks up and shrugs. "There was a local group back home that did a live show every month. I was on the shadow cast in high school--the ones doing the motions to match the film."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I was Eddie, usually, or Columbia on the gender-swap nights. Frank-n-Furter once, when the main guy was out sick. My grandma actually gave me the pearls to wear for the role--she was so fucking cool."

"She must have been." Enjolras' grandmother would write him out of her will if he ever showed up in an outfit like Grantaire's.

"Sorry if it was a little weird for you. I mean, if I knew you'd never been, I would have made sure you weren't going in _completely_ blind."

"No, it was...fun."

Grantaire grins. "Next year will be better," he promises. "But you never forget your first time."

Suddenly the kitchen feels very warm, and Enjolras slips out into the living room again, without his cocoa.

They leave in twos and threes, Cosette and Marius and Eponine, Feuilly and Bahorel, Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta. Combeferre makes noises about leaving, but Enjolras is eighty percent sure he's not going any further than Courfeyrac's bedroom tonight.

Jehan is lying sprawled out on the sofa, where he's probably going to spend the night, and Enjolras either needs to claim the ancient recliner next to the sofa or start making his way back to his own apartment.

Grantaire tugs on the front laces of his corset. "Jehan, what kind of fucking knot did you _put_ in this?" The knot is tied at the top, too high for him to get a good look at it.

Jehan just giggles--he was sitting on Bahorel's other side at the show, and he seems to have made free use of his flask. "I was a Boy Scout for like ten years," he says, tipping his head back to look at Grantaire upside-down over the arm of the sofa. "I just picked one."

" _Which_ one?"

"I forget."

"Then do you have scissors or something? I'm not fucking sleeping in this thing. I look hot as hell but it is _not_ comfortable."

It's been a fucking _weird_ night, which is the only excuse Enjolras can supply for the fact that he says, "Come here, I'll get it."

Grantaire blinks but walks over to him--Enjolras can't figure out why he hasn't taken the heels off. They can't be comfortable.

Enjolras ducks his head to peer at the tangled laces, and he realizes he's made a tactical mistake. He's standing so close that he can see the shift of Grantaire's throat when he swallows, the rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

Enjolras takes a deep breath of his own and slowly teases the laces apart. The backs of his fingers brush against Grantaire's skin.

"Hold _still_ ," he mutters, as Grantaire sways slightly.

Grantaire plants one hand on Enjolras' shoulder for support. "I'm not drunk, I swear," he mutters, and Enjolras can feel the warmth of Grantaire's breath on his cheek. "It's the fucking shoes."

"Why don't you take them off?"

"They make me feel tall," Grantaire says. "You wouldn't understand."

Enjolras gets the knot undone, and Grantaire sighs in relief. He loosens the laces enough to pull the corset off and drop it on the floor behind him, rubbing his hip where the stiff fabric dug into his skin. "That's better. Thanks."

Enjolras looks up. Grantaire's still wearing the underwear, the garter belt, and the heels. He's still as tall as Enjolras. And he's still _looking_ at him, his eyes dark and unnerving in the dim light.

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. "You okay, Apollo?"

Enjolras kisses him. It's just a tentative brush of his lips against Grantaire's, and for two seconds he thinks _shit, this is it, I've ruined everything oh my god--_

Then Grantaire kisses him back. His lips part and his hands come up to Enjolras' shoulders and it's _good_ , it's so good, and now Enjolras is the one who's swaying. He slides his arms around Grantaire's waist, settling his hands on the warm bare skin of Grantaire's back.

Grantaire jumps. "Your hands are cold," he mumbles into Enjolras' mouth.

"Sorry--" Enjolras tries to pull away.

"Wasn't complaining," Grantaire says, pulling him closer.

When they finally step back, Enjolras' mouth feels hot and bruised. Grantaire just cocks an eyebrow at him, like earth-shattering kisses are a daily experience for him.

"Didn't know you had a thing for lingerie, Apollo."

"I _don't_." He frowns. "I think it's just you."

Grantaire blinks, and the smile that curls his lips is enough to make Enjolras lean in and kiss him again.

When he looks around, quite a while later, Combeferre _and_ Jehan have both disappeared, and Courfeyrac's bedroom door is closed. Well. Good for them.

He takes a step back, regretting it when Grantaire's hands slide from his shoulders. "I should go," he says.

Grantaire nods.

"I'll, um...I'll see you tomorrow," he says, trying to recover some sense of equilibrium.

"Yeah."

"Right." He takes a deep breath. "Good night." 

"Good night."

He's got his hand on the doorknob when Grantaire says, "Hey, Enjolras."

He turns back, and Grantaire grins.

"Happy Halloween."

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: The above Halloween party is a thinly-veiled expy of Ohio University's annual celebration, street preachers, barricaded roads, and all. /Bobcat
> 
> Full "cast list" of Les Amis:  
> Combeferre = the Criminologist  
> Bahorel = Eddy  
> Courfeyrac = Rocky  
> Cosette = Janet  
> Marius = Brad  
> Eponine = Columbia  
> Jehan = also Columbia  
> Musichetta = Magenta  
> Bossuet = Riff Raff  
> Joly = also Riff Raff  
> Feuilly = The Lips  
> Grantaire = Dr. Frankenfurter  
> Enjolras = aroused
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](thelibrarina.tumblr.com). Come and say hi!


End file.
